


4 Times BLU Team Found Out Demoman is in Love with Soldier, and 3 Times He Told Them of His Own Volition

by hanktalkin



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 4 + 3, Asexual Character, Book Club, Foreign Language, French Kissing, Grenades, Internalized Biphobia, Invasion of Privacy, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7825102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate title: Builder’s League United Can’t Keep a Fucking Secret</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. +One+

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a pining fic for the longest time, and I just got out of hand. this was supposed to be like 7k. Same-faction, BLU team. I feel like I don’t give BLU enough love
> 
> the worst part is it’s not even really a pining fic anymore., but close enough also, I tried to give a significant speaking part to everyone in this fic. doing multiple characters at once is usually hard for me, so we’ll see how well this goes
> 
> Thank you to my Betas, YourChickenMan, and her cat Loki

Dinner’s nice. Whole team’s here. Yipee.

Demo idly pushes around the mashed potatoes with his fork, glaring across the table where his teammates are having a laugh. He shouldn’t be irritated for not being in on the joke; it’s his own fault for not paying attention.

In fact, even though he’d been staring directly at them when the three burst out laughing, his mind had been a bit preoccupied.

“And _then_ ,” Engie continues, to Soldier and Pyro’s barely contained giggles, “we get there, and there’s two horses in the barn. So I look ‘em in the eyes and say ‘now can I have my hat back?’” Soldier brings one of his massive hands down on the table, making the plates shake and spoons rattle. Although his laugh is loud and booming, it dissipates in the large cafeteria, making it an almost private joke between them and their captive audience. With ease, Soldier drapes an arm over Engie’s shaking shoulders, a casual touch that is in no way out of the ordinary.

Demoman seethes.

“You gunna eat that pally?” Scout interrupts, bringing Demo out of his foul narcosis. “Or you waitin’ for Old Nick to take you somewhere where there’s better potatoes?”

“Wha…?” Demo asks, not sure if that sentence made sense or if he was more intoxicated than he thought.

Scout gestures to his plate. “You’ve been tryin’ to eat that same forkful for the past eight minutes.”

“Uh, yeah. But what was that thing about Ole’ Nick?”

Scout shrugs. “My Ma always said that Old Nick comes and takes kids who don’t finish their dinner. That is why _I_ am a member of the Clean Plate Club, and why I always beat you morons at eatin’.”

Demo debates between telling Scout not everything is a competition, and making fun of him for still believing in Old Nick, but his tongue is thicker than normal. All he can focus on it the way the helmets click together as they pull away, the moment practically oozing relaxation and familiarity.

“Whoa whoa man! Okay jeez, you’re the second best at eatin’. No need to have a freakin’ aneurysm.”

As he looks down, Demo realizes he’s rendered his fork unusable, now a twisted little pile of metal and tines.

“I’m full,” he says, standing up and tossing the former fork onto the table.

“What? You just gunna leave your dat there? Really sloppy man.”

Engie and Soldier are already listening to one of Pyro’s jokes—or in Soldier’s case, pretending to understand—as Demo grabs his plate as he moves to the front of the cafeteria. He avoids looking at the table he just came from, instead running his eye over his remaining teammates, hoping to find some distraction. Sniper has absorbed his food, just like Scout, pushing it down the endless void that is his stomach. Heavy and Medic are auguring about something in Russian, either about their little book club or Medic practicing his grammar. It’s difficult to tell, honestly. Spy listens to the rapid back-and-forth with a look of bemusement. If he isn’t following, he’s a very convincing liar.

Try as he might, Demo can’t help but look back at the other table. It’s no big deal. It’s nothing. He knows he’s overreacting.

After all, he himself is a very tactile person, even when sober. So what if Soldier hugs members of the team after a particularly good win? So what it he gives Scout a fond pat on the back for an intelligence hat trick? Demo doesn’t care. Soldier can do whatever the hell he wants.

Okay. The whole “dinner’s nice” thing a big fat lie.

Demo skulks back to his room, opting to tinker there instead of moving into the depressing lab. Maybe Engie didn’t mind the black, sunless hole, but Demo preferred being able to see his own fingers and not smelling the human bodies buried under the concrete.

As he presses two wires together, he thinks back on dinner with a twinge of guilt. He was being childish, and, now that he’s out of the bustling room and able to take a breather, he chides himself for his callowness. Maybe it was just the embarrassment, but he’s sure he felt someone’s eyes on him as he exited the hall. Either way, he should be more careful.

An unsubtle knock at the door yanks him back to reality, bringing the wires into focus.

“Aye?” he calls, gently insulating the wires with a bit of rubber.

Soldier opens the door, a grin on his face and a case of beer under his arm. “Hello Demoman! Ready for Grenades?”

Demo blinks, the gears turning in his head. That’s right, it’s Thursday. In his fit, the day had slipped his mind.

Soldier’s grin falters a bit. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

“O’ course I dinnae forget,” Demo lies. “I just thought I could get some buildin’ done before then.” He carefully places the wires back where he found them, pulling on his boots when he’s done. In a moment he’s ready to go, glad it’s Soldier’s turn to buy and he doesn’t have to conjure up the missing beer.

“Good!” Soldier replies. “Because if I remember something and you forget it, that probably means I made it up. I do not want to make-up Grenades.”

Demo chuckles, but he gets the feeling that wasn’t meant as a joke.

They make their way up to the roof of BLU base, talking about the resident German barking up a storm over dinner. Apparently, there _had_ been an argument after Demo left, something that Engie diffused before things got physical.

“I’ll never understand their fascination with a bunch of smelly old books,” Soldier says, swinging his legs over the edge of the roof. “There are much better things to start a fight over. Like Rock and Roll! And the proper usage of band-aids!”

“Have you ever really gotten intae a fight over band-aids, or are you just bein’ facetious?” Demo asks, sitting on the other side of the case.

“I _have_ gotten into a fight over band-aids, and also I do not know what that word means!”

Demo pulls out a bottle, a poor brand that Soldier probably just picked up from a gas station. Demo doesn’t mind, though. Tonight isn’t about that.

“‘Facetious’ means makin’ light out o’ a serious situation,” he said, cracking open his bottle.

“I wouldn’t call ‘Medic trying to tackle Heavy’ a serious situation.”

Demo laughs. “Got me there. Man would probably just bounce off like a flea.”

Soldier opens his own beer, lifting the bottle to his lips before remembering to toast. He clinks the neck of his bottle against Demo’s, to a cheerful, “Happy Grenades.”

“Happy Grenades,” Demo repeats, and takes his first sip.

To the causal observer, ‘Happy Grenades’ seems like a strange toast. But a casual observer would be thrown off the roof, so it is not a question that is asked often. High over the battlefield, this particular rooftop spot is Sniper’s preferred daytime hidey-hole. But, when the reclusive Australian returns to his camper for the evening, it is free to be discovered by the energetic members of the team.

Which is exactly what happened.

It started out innocently enough, Soldier wanting to practice his grenade throws, but getting bored with such a small training yard. That was when he spied the perch above him, the perfect place to spice up his usual regimen. Of course, his initial attempt got him a kukri gash a cross the arm, and the next time he was smart enough to wait for Sniper to leave.

Soon, Demo joined in on the fun, realizing how much better the view was for watching dummies explode. Then came the booze. (It’s amazing how something can go from ‘two idiots on a roof’ to ‘just a couple of mates hanging out’ with just a touch of alcohol.) Eventually they had to stop with the grenades after being written up for ‘wasting valuable ammunition.’ (This was particularly insulting because the _whole war_ seemed like a waste of ammo.) _Then_ , when they tried using dummy grenades instead, they got told off for keeping the team up in the middle of the night. Nothing seemed to please BLU.

Eventually, ‘Grenades’ degenerated into sitting on the roof every Thursday getting smashed. The name stuck, however.

“Ah, Cassiopeia’s all upside down right now,” Demo says after a lull in the conversation. He points up at the constellation, gently connecting the dots with his finger.

Soldier squints, trying to make her out.

“No, no more that way. She looks like an ‘M’. See that?”

“So she looks like a ‘W’?”

“What? No!”

“You said she was upside down.”

“She’s upside down ‘cause the gods stuck her up there as punishment. Said she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs, and you know how well that sorta thing blows over with those hens.”

Soldier gazes at the constellation, making out the shape against the backdrop of starlight. He huffs. “She’s not that pretty. Your Scottish gods are too easily offended.”

“She’s not a _Scottish_ constellation. She’s Greek.”

Soldier huffs again. “Let’s look at some American constellations. I’m sick of all these olive-picking stars.”

“There _aren’t_ any American constellations Solider. They’re _all_ Greek.”

“What?” Soldier balks. “Why?”

Demo shrugs. “The Greeks scooped ‘em all up before America was even invented.” He shoots Soldier an impish grin. “Suppose you should be a wee bit faster next time, eh?”

“Unacceptable! If there are no American constellations then I will _make_ one!” Soldier jabs a finger into the sky. “There! And there! And…there! _That_ is a turkey, America’s Vice-National bird.”

Demo laughs so hard he falls backwards, having drunk enough to substantially impede his balance. “You…” he wheezes, “you just stole stars from Cassiopeia, Andromeda, _and_ Perseus!”

“Well that’s what America is all about. Stealing stuff and then making it better.”

Demo laughs even harder at that, his overly full belly shaking in mirth. Soldier flops next to him, a smile on his face despite his supposed seriousness. When he finally stops laughing, Demo glances over at his drinking companion, whose helmet is tilted back to reveal his eyes. They’re staring up, admiring Soldier’s new addition to the galaxy, reflecting every burning sun thousands of light years away.

Seeing the world through Soldier’s eyes is better than any telescope.

Demo knows he's staring, but he can’t help it. He watches Soldier watch the sky, and he feels that familiar bubble of peace whenever they’re out here together. Out here, it’s impossible to be jealous. It’s just the two of them alone in the universe.

Eventually, they polish off the case and stumble back to their respective rooms. There’s a familiar ache in the Demoman’s heart as he falls back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling that separates him from the night’s sky. He places a hand on his chest.

“God I’m so fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my ma always said talked about “being a member of the clean plate club.” so she’s the reason I’m fat


	2. -One-

“Anyone want tae fill me on why Heavy is sportin’ a particularly lovely bruise this fine mornin’?”

Scout shrugs, stirring milk into his oatmeal. “I bet he ‘n Medic went at it the other night. If I went off ‘bout the Hardy Boys like those three gripe about Grigori Olga Nikolaevich, I’da been told books are rottin’ my brain.”

“Pretty sure ‘Grigori Olga Nikolaevich’ ain’t a character in _Anna Karenia_ ,” Engie says, dropping down on the other side of Scout.

“I thought you stopped their fight,” Demo demurs, aiming his statement at Engie.

“Ha! As if Sawbones could do _that_.” Engie takes a bite of his grits. “Naw, Heavy was madder than a chipmunk in a windstorm, walked right into the doorframe ‘cuz he wasn’t looking where he was going. Doc refused to heal him.”

“Scrapes from your own stupidity are not my problem,” Demo and Scout say at the same time, quoting Medic’s favorite tautology.

The mystery solved, Demo resumes his undeterred staring, focusing his attention all the way across to the other side of the cafeteria. Medic is once again annoyed, this time by Soldier pestering him about something. The German pointedly turns his body away, sliding his breakfast to the side away form the energetic mercenary.

Demo wonders what they’re talking about. He leans on an elbow and sighs.

“What about you, Demo? Couldn’t find you last night.”

 

The Engineer’s question snaps Demo out of his daze, the conversation having taken a turn while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Why were you lookin’ for me?” Demo snaps instinctively.

His goggles not yet on, Engineer’s raised eyebrow is clear as day. “Just wanted to get your opinion on a new power cell, partner. No need to get all defensive.”

“Oh,” Demo exhales. “Yeah, I was, er, just out for Grenades.”

“You two still doin’ that?” Scout interjects. “An’ people tell _me_ to grow up.”

“Oh like blowin’ things up is less mature than sittin’ in your room readin’ Bonk! Boy,” Demo shoots back, conveniently forgetting that Grenades no longer involves property destruction.

The rest of breakfast is a long, drawn out argument between Scout and Demoman, one that Sniper finds amusing and Engineer does not. By the time Demo looks up again, both Medic and Soldier are gone. He stands, dumping his dish in the sink and heading to the armory. But, as he’s about to pass through the door out of the kitchen, he feels the eyes on him, just like he had last night.

He turns, surveying the morning scene for whoever might be staring at him. Medic and Soldier have already left, Sniper is leaning over his cooling coffee, and Engie is berating Scout for ruining his morning. Heavy leans against the wall, pressing an ice-pack he lifted from the kitchen again his bruised cheek. Spy, true to his nautre, is nowhere in sight.

Demo shrugs, and moves on.

* * *

Later that day, Demo knocks against the infirmary door, which is quite a feat considering what he’s holding. The sounds of foreign language come to a halt, replaced by a pair of boots clicking across the tile floor. Medic pushes the swinging door aside, revealing the three co-workers relaxing in the frigid room.

“Hello lads,” Demo smiles painfully. “Was wondering if I could borrow the doc for a moment. Ran into a spot o’ trouble.” He indicates as such by holding the object in his hand.

The object is **also** his hand, his left one, which had become separated from his body after dropping his stock of tri-cyclic acetone peroxide one too many times.

“And vhere is the rest of your arm?” Medic asks with disdain.

Demo gives a shrug, one that’s a bit more painful than usual. “This is all I could find.”

“You know how I feel about self-inflicted injuries, _Herr_ Demo.”

“I know,” Demo persists, “but since this is a wee more than a ‘scrape’, I thought you might make an exception.”

With a sigh, Medic allows him into the infirmary.

Heavy is sitting near the desk, plopped in an overly-large armchair. The chair is supporting a dangerous looking pile of books that lean precariously, even with the chair’s help. It’s so large and out of place in the sterile room, Demo figures Heavy must have dragged it in here himself.

The Russian has a small notebook in front of him, having been writing before the Demoman showed up.

Spy is leaned up against the fridge, a cigarette in his teeth and a smirk on his lips. Demo guesses the latter is more in regards to whatever the three were talking about before he walked in, and not toward Demo’s predicament.

“On the examination table if you please,” Medic says as he wheels the mounted medigun toward it.

Demo complies, placing his severed hand in its approximate location along his side.

“Again now docktor,” Heavy says, scratching a few more notes into his book.

“Can it vait?” Medic asks, flicking on the Quick-Fix. “This will only take a moment.”

“ _Nyet_. Multitask. Will help you not over think.”

Medic sighs reluctantly.

“ _я беден_ ,” Heavy begins.

“ _я беден_ ,” Medic repeats, watching the blue glow begin to recreate Demo’s arm.

“ _Nyet_ , _я **бед** ен,” _Heavy corrects, stressing the pronunciation.

“ _я **бед** ен_,” Medic says again, obviously annoyed.

“Good. Now: _бедный слушатель_.”

“ _бедный слушатель,”_ Medic struggles _._

“Yes. Врач.”

“врач,” Medic says more confidently, recognizing his own name.

Spy can’t help himself anymore, and lets out a muffled snort.

Medic immediately whips around. “Vhat? Vhat is so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Spy says with a wave of his hand. His other one covers his mouth, where he tries to suppress his giggles. “Though I am guessing he was about to have you say _врач плохой слушатель_.”

“Good pronunciation,” Heavy tells Spy noncommittally.

“Vhat were you having me say?” Medic demands. “It vas something dirty, vasn’t it?”

“I do not have you say anything that is not true,” Heavy says with a face that is too stoic to be truthful.

“You two are so juvenile!” Medic spits. “Always having your private little jokes. It’s not fair! Spy started two years after me!”

Heavy just shrugs. “Is not my fault Spy is fast learner.”

Before Medic can shoot something back, Demo is forced to interrupt. “Listen, I hate to break up the ‘ridicule Doc’ party, but I _really_ think you should turn this thing off.”

The Quick-Fix has gone beyond overheal, Demo’s arm now blue and glowing. The skin is swollen and shiny, like an overripe blueberry about to pop. Medic immediately lunges for the switch, severing the steady stream of blue light. Demo’s arm begins to shrink down to a normal size, loosing its sapphire sheen and returning to a dark brown. Tapping his thumb against each of his fingers, he finds it to be good as new.

“Thanks Doc.”

“No trouble. I do believe we were finished for the day anyways.” Medic shoots a look at his co-workers, one grinning and one trying very hard not too.

Spy and Heavy take that as their cue to leave. Demo follows them, trying to get another thank you in as he’s pushed out the door. Within a few seconds, the three of are ejected into the hall, standing about in various states of humor.

“You should not pester him so. He is sensitive about it,” Spy tells Heavy, though his voice lacks any sympathy for the henpecked German.

Heavy allows himself a smile. “Doktor has it coming. Also, was _you_ who let cat out of bag, not me.”

Rolling his eyes, Spy lights another cigarette. “And please stop picking up English proverbs. You always choose the tackiest ones.”

“Cannot help it,” Heavy chuckles. “All so amusing.” That get’s a laugh out of the other two, and he gestures down the hallway. “Dinner?”

Getting his arm blown off has made Demo particularly famished, but before he can agree, Spy speaks up.

“Actually, I was hoping to speak with the Demoman alone, if you don’t mind.”

Warning bells blare inside Demo’s mind. To his shock, Heavy nods, not the slightest bit suspicious as he lumbers toward the mess hall.

What the hell? Why is Heavy leaving him alone with _Spy_?

Maybe Heavy trusts the Spy, but Demo certainly does not. It’s one thing to be polite to him, or joke around when they’re in a group, but Spy wanting to talk to him in private spells all sorts of trouble.

“Do you mind if we retire to my smoking room?”

Demo shakes his head, and Spy leads them to the vast upstairs room he had claimed for himself. Each step makes Demo feel like he’s walking further into a trap, the comfort and safety of the first floor far behind him. When he enters, it’s like being transported to eighteenth century France, complete with crown moldings and upscale rugs.

Spy offers him a box.

“I prefer cigars, thanks,” Demo declines. At least he thought he did, until Spy offers a cigar case pulled from who know where.

Demo grunts gratefully, accepting the light as well. The cigar does a little to calm him, the formality of the disgustingly expensive room doing a number on his nerves. Spy sits across from him, smoking his own fancy brand. The tension between them is thicker than the smoke.

“So,” Spy begins, and Demo thinks he’s about to find out why Spy dragged him in here. “How exactly did you loose your arm just now?”

 “Ah,” Demo replies, no idea where this conversation is supposed to be heading. “Well, you know, dangerous profession,” he says as he taps his missing eyeball. “Mishandled some chemicals. Scared Engie half tae death though, he was yellin’ at me all while I was tryin’ tae find the rest o’ me arm.”

“How unfortunate,” Spy says, his voice once again lacking normal levels of human empathy.

“I just think these things wouldnae happen if BLU could spring for some decent lighting in the basement.”

“Drink?” Spy asks out of nowhere.

“Er…sure?”

It’s not in Demo’s nature to refuse a drink, but when Spy hands him a glass of frilly imported wine, he almost wishes it were. Spy sits back down, swirling his own drink to increase the aroma or whatever. Not like anyone can smell anything in this smoggy hell-hole anyways.

As Spy lays his hand across his lap, Demo realizes something: Spy is _awkward_. Somehow, that’s even worse than thinking Spy is about to make him an accomplice to murder. He can handle sneaking, conniving Spy. That’s the Spy they all know and love! (Well, know and tolerate.) But this? How is _he_ supposed to handle this when Spy himself can barely make small-talk?

“So, er…was there somethin’ you wanted tae talk tae me about?”

“Yes, of course.” Spy tries to keep his voice even. “I had a few questions about some of your behavior recently.”

The worst possible scenario immediately crashes through Demo’s blissful little existence. Someone knows about him and Soldier. And that person is _Spy_.

He tries to quiet his internal monologue of _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ all the while wrestling his face into a mask of polite confusion. There’s no reason to jump to conclusions. The “behavior” could be anything considering Spy’s attention to detail. The fact that Demo keeps putting his dishes in the sink instead of the dishwasher, for instance.

“You goin’ tae try tae get me tae quit drinkin’? ‘Cause I tell you, a lot better men than you have tried, and they’re all dead now.”

Spy laughs, but it’s a stiff giggle instead of his more genuine one. “…I was actually referring to something else.” Spy clears his throat. “This morning you exhibited some odd…tendencies. Jumpiness. Not-aware of one’s self. And you seemed very fascinated with Medic and Soldier’s conversation.”

Ok. Now it’s time to jump to conclusions.

“You seem agitated after matches, but only when we win.”

 _Shit shit shit_.

“I began to notice these things approximately four months ago, this morning’s display only the most pronounced. What first made me realize it was your unnecessary rescue of Soldier, back on Thunder Mountain.”

Demo remembers. It had been hot and exhausting and he wasn’t thinking clearly. It’s one thing to jump in front of a rocket for Medic—one man’s life is nothing compared to a good Uber—but to do the same for Soldier…

Even the less observant mercenaries were confused by his actions.

Spy sets down his empty glass. “I did not want to draw conclusions, at least not until I heard your explanation of events. So. That is why I asked you up here. Do you have anything to say on the subject?”

There weren’t any cuss words strong enough for Demo’s current thoughts. All of those individual events he could explain away, but now that Spy had laid them out like evidence in a courtroom, they painted all too clear a picture.

“I dunnae have to explain anythin’ tae you, you cheese humpin’…” Demoman loses his momentum halfway through the sentence. He slumps forward in the armchair, at a loss for anything to say. “You…you already know the answer, dunnae you?”

“I am giving you an opportunity to tell me otherwise,” Spy replies softly.

“I…” He can’t admit it. He can barely form words in this awful smelly room that’s difficult to breath in, let alone divulge his most closely kept secret.

“I dunnae…” he tries again. His empty glass dangles from his fingers, dangerously close to slipping. His last statement comes as a whisper. “I love him.”

Spy nods.

“And…I know I say ‘love’ a lot, and I mean it, I love you all. But with Soldier it’s…different.” Demo examines the crystal, hanging limply, halfway to the ground. “It’s like…like the way you’d love a girl. You want it to be just her and you, together, with nothin’ keepin’ you apart. Only Soldier’s nae a girl.” Demo chuckles to himself. “ _Lord_ he’s nae a girl. But it’s…the same feelin’, you know?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he sighs, his whole body deflating with the motion. “Well. There it is. You wrested the confession out o’ me. So what’s it goin’ tae be, Spy?” He looks up. “Blackmail? Expulsion? Or are you just goin’ tae lord this over me until you find a way tae use it?”

A look of surprise momentarily passes over Spy’s face, eventually replaced by something softer, something Demo has never seen him wear before.

“Demoman, this was not an extortion session. I simply want to help.”

“Help?” The word has no bearing in Demo’s mind, at least when it comes to Spy. “What the bloody hell do you mean by _help_?”

“I wanted to be here in case you needed assistance sorting out your feeling. Also, I want to offer some friendly advice.”

Demo blinks, dumbfounded. “What in seven hells do you get out o’ offering _advice_?”

At that, Spy chuckles, his happier one with the snorts. “Contrary to what you all seem to believe, I _do_ care about this team. And that includes you.” Before Demo can even process the magnitude of that statement, that Spy doesn’t hate him and everything he stands for, the Frenchman continues. “I also found myself in a similar situation many years ago. I wish to help, so that you do not make the same mistakes I did.”

If Demo was surprised before, he’s absolutely floored now. “…A….similar situation?”

“I was in love with someone,” Spy elaborated. “Whether or not he loved me back, I cannot say. I never asked, and, instead, I bottled up all my feelings until there was nothing left but rage and jealousy. Not only did I ruin any chance we might have had together, but I destroyed the friendship we built.”

“I’m…sorry Spy. I had no idea.”

“Well,” Spy says, smiling wryly, “I do not reveal personal information very often. But, considering the situation, a personal anecdote was called for, no?”

This is all so much. Demo is barely able to wrap his mind around that Spy’s being nice to him, let alone that he wants to be Demo’s confidant.

“Wow. I mean…wow.” Demo lightly sets his glass on a side table, glancing at the man across from him. “I guess…if you want to give me some advice, I got nothin’ better comin’ my way.”

Spy’s smile widens, breaking into a genuine grin.

“Well then, here it is: tell him how you feel.”

Demo stares at him for a solid thirty seconds.

“What.”

“Tell him how you feel!” Spy encourages. “I marred my own relationship through cowardice, but you do not have to. If you tell him, he could feel the same way. What is the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, he could _hear_ me??”

Spy rolls his eyes. “Be serious Demoman. What if he shares your affection? Then the both of you are clucking about like hens who don’t know the corn is right beneath their feet.”

“A chicken analogy? Who are you, Engineer?”

“Come now, did you not just give to me a little speech about how you want it to be just the two of you, with nothing keeping you apart? You are halfway to a love confession already!”

“Spy,” Demo pleads, “you have tae understand, Soldier’s nae…he would never…” He trails off, the words unsaid greater than the words he had. He slumps forward once again.

“Do you know that for sure?” Spy asks gently.

“Well, _no_ , but…”

“Then there is still hope, my friend,” Spy finishes gently.

Demo sits in silence for a few minutes longer. Finally, he manages to say, “I dunno Spy. I just…I dunno.”

Spy sighs, and takes a stands up from his comfortable chair. “Well, I have given my advice, but the decision is ultimately yours. Come,” he says, placing a hand on Demo’s shoulder, “we should head to dinner before the others miss us.”

Demo nods, standing beside his new friend. Today has been odd. He needs to think.

But first, he needs to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PUT DISHES IN THE DISHWASHER YOU FOOLS. SINK IS NOT FOR DISHES.
> 
> I have made Spy…very nice. It’s a little ooc but whatever
> 
> Heavy was trying to get Medic to say “Doctor is poor listener”


	3. -Two-

The whole week flew in a blur. Sometimes, in true Spy fashion, the rogue would appear in a cloud of smoke and ambush him for friendly conversation. In all honesty, the man didn’t seem to have much to do now that book club was disbanded.

The rift between Medic and Heavy didn’t spill onto the battlefield, but it sure did make life interesting everywhere else. The first time Demo tries to find Spy on his own, nearly a week later, he makes the mistake of checking the infirmary again. Immediately, Medic drags him inside, a pre-prepared monologue halfway out of his lips.

“The themes of tragedy _far_ outweigh the romantic aspects of Tolstoy’s work. If Heavy cannot see that, he is an idealist and a fool,” Medic growls, stuffing what looks like a second brain inside an octopus.

“Uh-uh,” Demo replies, his eye fixed on the Lovecraftian horror in front of him. He thinks he sees it twitch.

“And his interpretations of some of the characters…Kitty, Levin, Vronsky… _Especially_ Vronsky. He’s just so…uhg!” Medic’s apparent disgust for the Heavy Weapon’s Specialist manifests in a feat of extreme strength. He shoves the brain inside the octopus with all his might, causing a spurt of orange goo to splatter across his coat. He looks down with distaste.

“Ah, well, I can see you’re a tad busy, so I’m just goin’ tae-”

“Demoman!” Medic snaps. “Hand me my spare owl brain.”

Demo looks between the doctor and the jar he’s pointing at. “I’d really rather not.”

A few flies must have fallen dead with the look Medic shoots him. He hands him the owl brain. Medic goes back to work.

“Kitty and Levin’s relationship does not negate every other non-romantic theme in the book, nor it’s inevitable conclusion. To think that-”

Medic says his next sentence to Archimedes, who watches the proceedings with just as much dismay as Demo. The Demolitions expert uses the distraction to escape.

Once he’s made it to the hall, there’s nowhere else to go really. He’s already checked the smoking room, locked from the inside. The kitchen is empty, the common room only contains the disgruntled Heavy, and the outer yard-

“Yo, depth perception! Catch!”

-is occupied by Scout.

Despite Scout’s jeer, the depth perception problem isn’t as bad after a lot of practice. He catches the incoming ball, to Scout’s disappointment.

“Aw,” the younger mercenary says as he runs up, “I wanted to see you fall down.”

“Yeah,” Demo says, tossing Scout’s baseball up in the air, “I bet.”

“Where are _you_ headin’? You never come out here unless it’s to get somewhere else.”

“Nowhere. Just comin’ from the infirmary.”

Scout nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. I heard Medic turned ya into Violet Beauregarde the other day.”

“Intae… _what_?”

“Ya know. Violet Beauregarde? Girl who got puffed up like a blueberry and had to be de-juiced?”

How is he expected to know every random horror story that popped in the papers? It’s probably some Boston thing Scout expects everyone to know about.

“Ach, whatever. Have you seen Spy at all?”

Scout chews the inside of his cheek. “That’s right, you two are all buddy-buddy now. Why’re ya hangin’ out with that frog anyways?”

“He’s less annoyin’ than you, for one thing.”

He doesn’t really need to pick a fight with Scout, but there’s nothing better to do right now.

“I’m not annoyin’! An’ give me back my ball!” Scout makes a lunge for it, and Demo holds it even higher out of reach.

Things went about their natural escalation from there.

* * *

“Ah, Demoman. I have been meaning to speak with- what happened to your face?”

“Oh this?” Demo asks, indicating his bruised forehead. “Just having a little fun with Scout.”

Spy shakes his head. “The day that boy learns a proper sport is the day hell freezes over.”

The injury _is_ baseball related, but not in the way Spy believes. Demo thinks it’s better that way.

“So, you wanted tae talk with me?” Demo says, pretending like he hadn’t spent all afternoon looking for the rogue.

“Yes,” Spy confirms. “As you know, it is Thursday. I wanted to see if you had made a decision yet.”

Oh god. Like he could forget. Carefully, Demo looks around the abandoned hallway.

“There is no one around,” Spy soothes. “I keep tabs on BLU team’s locations at all times.”

Okay, that’ a bit hard to believe, even for Spy. Demo relents anyways. “Tae answer, your question: no, I havenae made a decision.”

Spy presses his lips together tersely. He had been trying to convince Demo to confess his feelings ever since he explained the nature of Grenades. Although “convince” was more like “pressure in uncomfortable ways,” but it was all the same to Spy.

“I just…” Demo begins, looking uncertainly at the floor. “I can’t go in there nae knowin’ how he might react. If only I knew-”

He stops, his eye opening in a moment of brilliance.

“If I _knew_ how things were, it would make it effortless. And _you_ could find out!”

Spy blinks, surprised the conversation has turned on him. “Me?”

“Yes you!” Demo shouts, forgetting for a second he’s supposed to be discreet. He carefully drops his voice back down to a whisper. “That’s your whole thing, innit? Go around in people’s rooms, pokin’ in stuff. I know you’ve done it tae all of us at least once. All I’m sayin’ is: go through some of his things, do a little investigatin’, find out if he’s, you know…” Demo makes a vague hand gesture Spy doesn’t react to. “…If I have a shot.”

Spy stares blankly back. After a few seconds, he responds.

“No.”

“No? You do this shite all the time! Why not?”

“Because no matter how low my opinion of Soldier may be, I still respect him enough not to go looking for something so personal. That crosses a line Demoman.”

“Oh, you respect _his_ privacy but nae mine?” Demo growls. “What about all the diggin’ you did on me?”

“I did not do any ‘digging’,” Spy denies. “I watched, I observed, I made deductions. And, might I remind you, I left it up to _you_ to decide whether or not to tell me.”

Demo sighs, rubbing his temples. If Spy can make you feel like a bad person, you’re probably doing something wrong.

“Okay, okay I get it. But you can understand why I’m nervous, right?”

Spy gives him a sympathetic look, something he has been practicing over the past few days. “I can. I know you are afraid how Soldier will respond, and your fears may be justified. But I can tell you this: no one ever fell in love without being a little bit brave. You can do this, Demoman.”

Demo takes a moment to look anywhere but at Spy.

“Well. At least one of us believes in me.”

* * *

It's minutes before Soldier arrives, and Demo’s still not ready. Well, technically, he’s completely ready; and therein lies the problem.

He looks between two very similar T-shirts, endlessly hung up on the fact that he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. Does he want to go casual, so that Soldier doesn’t get suspicious? Or should he wear something nicer, so that Soldier didn’t think he’s some pathetic slob who wears his Highland Caber Toss Club shirt to a date?

Logically, Soldier wouldn’t give a damn. The American isn’t the most perceptive person in the first place, and Demo doubts he would judge another man’s fashion sense. (At least when it comes to things besides kilts.) But it's just so nerve-wracking, sitting here, waiting for him to show up, both dreading and longing for it to start…

A knock.

Demo jumps out of his skin, ripping open the door while Soldier still had his fist raised.

“Hi Solly! Wonderful night for an evenin’, wouldnae you agree?”

“Uh…” Soldier says, slowly lowering his hand, a bit freaked out by Demo’s undeterred enthusiasm. “Yeah, I guess.”

Demo scoops up the case he had been hiding under the bed, bustling past Soldier into the hall. He’s already halfway up the stairs when he realizes he forgot to close his bedroom door, but he’d too embarrassed to walk past Soldier again. He can’t get to the roof fast enough.

By the time Soldier makes it up, Demo’s already hanging his feet over the edge, readying to crack open his first beer.

“What’s your hurry, Scotty? Got something going on more important than Grenades?”

“N-no, no hurry,” Demo says, picking off the label with his fingernail. “Just a bit stressed from the battle today.”

Which is a big fat lie. He spent most of the day with Engineer, bunkering down in the sentry nest and playing his “defense” role to a T.

“Alright then,” Soldier says with a shrug. He sits down beside the Demoman, the case between them.

Demo is thankful that the beer creates a little barrier between them, Soldier’s proximity already making him sweat. But a part of him still wishes his friend would sit beside him, make them closer, enjoy his company.

Oh god he can’t do this.

“So what’s that one?” Soldier says, pointing to a group of stars over to the left.

Demo follows his finger to the cluster, blinking at the beautiful lights. “No fuckin’ clue.”

“Really?” Soldier says, dropping his hand. “I thought you knew all about this star crap.”

“It’s ‘astronomy’, and no, I don’t.” Something in his chest lightens, taking his mind off the butterflies trying to escape his insides. “In fact,” Demo says with an almost devilish grin, “I’m willin’ tae let you in on a little secret.”

Soldier perks. He loves secrets, no matter how terrible he is at keeping them.

“What’s the secret?” Soldier whispers, even though they’re on the roof in the middle of the desert and alone for miles.

“Cassiopeia, Andromeda, and Perseus are the only constellations I know.”

“What?” Soldier demands. “I thought you were some kinda expert.”

“Exactly,” Demo smirks. “A long time ago, I figured out that as long as you know three constellations, and maybe a bit o’ trivia ‘bout them, people will think you’re some kinda genius. So, that’s what I did. Memorized the three o’ ‘em, and never had anyone ever call me out until just now.”

Soldier chuckles, and shakes his head in disbelief. “I could never do that. People would never think I’m a genius, no matter how many stars I remembered.”

For a moment, Demo forgets his anxiety. There’s a note of sadness in Soldier’s voice that’s hard to miss.

“Hey,” Demo says, placing a hand on his shoulder, “dunnae say that.”

“It’s true. Do you really think anyone would _ever_ think I’m smart?”

“O’ course I do! Half your crazy schemes actually end up workin’, somethin’ most master-strategists never even get tae. Anyone who says you’re nae smart has bees for brains.”

“You are being facetious.”

“I’m…what?” Demo blinks a few times.

“Facetious!” Soldier snaps. “I am being serious and you are making light of it.”

“I’m nae!” Demo grabs Soldier by both shoulders, turning the other man towards him. “Listen Soldier, you’re your own worst enemy. You cannae let a bunch o’ snot-nosed prissy-pickers tell you who you are. You _are_ smart. You’re brave. And you-”

Demo stops. The got moved in the last few seconds, nothing separating him and Soldier except the length of his arms. He was so focused on giving Soldier a much-needed pep talk hadn’t realized how close they had suddenly become.

“…And I need to tell you somethin’.”

“Uh…okay?” The turnaround from happy-feel-good-self-esteem-time to serious talk makes Soldier’s brow furrow.

“No, I mean I really got tae _tell_ you somethin’. It’s important, so you got tae listen tae me, and nae just…” Demo knows he’s rambling. He takes a deep breath, and forces himself to look at Soldier in the eye. Carefully, making sure he gets each simple little word just right, he says, “I like you.”

The silence on the roof is deafening. Soldier blinks a few times, his confusion mounting.

“That’s…good? I like you too,” he replies, and Demo wants to throw himself off the roof.

“No, no I dunnae mean like _that_. I mean…” He has no idea where to go from there. “I like you more than the rest of the team. Like…more than a friend. I like you in the way you’re nae supposed tae like guys, but I do anyways.”

Try as he might, he can’t look Soldier in the eye.

There’s another long pause, this one stretching across the entirety of the badlands. Just a Demo realizes he’s still gripping his friend’s shoulders and thinks to pull away, Soldier responds.

“Demoman. Are you telling me you are a homosexual?”

Demo looks up, and the look on Soldier’s face isn’t of anger or repulsion, but of calm curiosity.

“Er…I guess so?”

Demo had never thought himself a queer before; he’d been perfectly happy with all the women he’d dated in the past. But now…his feelings for Soldier put everything into doubt.

Soldier’s expression is thoughtful, barely visible beneath the steel helmet. After a long, tedious minute of deliberation, he tells Demo this: “I’ll need to think about it.”

“What?” Demo replies blankly.

Soldier shrugs. “I said I’ll need to think about it. You kinda dropped this on me outta nowhere, you know.”

“Oh,” Demo mutters. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Demo drops his hands from Soldier’s shoulders, and the American immediately leans back on his elbow, taking a sip of his beer. Demo doesn’t know what to do except stare at him, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“So what’s Andromeda’s story,” Soldier asks, staring up at the cluster next to her mother. The suddenness of it all snaps Demo out of his daze.

“Well,” he begins, still quite sure what the hell just happened, “you remember her Mum, right? Well because she goes ‘n pissed off the Gods, Poseidon sent a big arse sea monster tae get revenge. Andromeda gets chucked up as a human sacrifice, which stars a whole string a shite that eventually ends her up as a bunch o’ stars.”

The rest of the night is spent telling Soldier what little he knows about the Greek Gods and Goddess, starting with Perseus and moving on from there. Despite claiming them to be a “commie religion,” Soldier listens with rapt attention. Eventually, it’s time to turn in.

They say goodnight, and return to their rooms like nothing happened.

* * *

“-And then he says he’ll _think about it_ ,” Demo hollers, pacing back and forth in Spy’s smoking room. “What does that even _mean_??”

“I assume it means exactly that,” Spy replies, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Soldier is not one for multi-layered speech.”

“Yeah, but think about _what_?” Demo asks the fresco ceiling.

Spy considers that for a moment. “Perhaps he merely thinks you were coming out to him? Are you sure you made it clear it was a love confession?”

“Yes!” Demo bellows, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “I used the word ‘like’ at least five times!”

“Ah, so it was a like confession, not a love one.”

Demo stops pacing long enough to shoot Spy a glare. “It wasnae a _like_ confession, it was a _like like_ confession.”

“Oh, a _like like_ confession,” Spy drawls, his voice dripping with condescension. “Was this before or after you passed him a note with hearts on it?”

“Why are you bein’ so calm about this?” Demo says, stopping in front of the rogue. “ _You_ thought he was goin’ tae fall for me right on the spot.”

“And _you_ thought he was going to spit in your face.” Spy places his finished cigarette in the crystal ashtray. “Neither one of us was correct. And now, there is only one thing for us to do.”

Demo raises his eyebrow.

“Wait for him to ‘think about it’. Though,” Spy says, already lighting another cigarette, “that may take a while. I’m sure it is not something that happens often.”

Demo sighs, and collapses onto the couch with a wumpf.

* * *

A week passed.

Nothing changed.

Not. A. Damn. Thing.

Demo kept waiting for Soldier to show some sort of recognition that something had occurred between them, but nothing doing. The American was just as ostentatious as ever: overly affectionate when they won, and throwing a fit when they lost. It was like the night on the roof hadn’t even happened.

There were regular sessions with Spy, where Demo stewed and Spy tried to be helpful. In all honesty, the Frenchman had too much on his plate anyway, trying to solve Heavy and Medic’s ever-growing feud as well as the Demoman’s romantic life.

“Why are you doing all this anyway?” Demo asks one day, lying face down on the fainting couch.

Spy looks up from _Anna Karenina_. “I assure you, I have no idea what you mean.”

“All this,” Demo repeats, gesturing to both the book and himself. “I know you dunnae do it for the gossip. You keep all these juicy little secrets for yourself.”

“And the explanation that I am attempting to help my team is insufficient for you?”

“I think that’s part o’ it, but it’s certainly nae the only reason.” Demo props his chin under one arm to see the Spy better. “So, what is it mate? Why go through all the trouble?”

Spy lets a smile curve the left side of his face. “Why Demoman, it is because I enjoy the _drama_.”

Demo laughs. “Now _that_ I can believe.”

* * *

It’s been exactly one week. Grenades night again. Demo’s on his way to his room to wait for Soldier, when he walks face first into Pyro.

“Mh! Hmm Mhhmmh hudda…mhdbhhbbmmm!”

“Oh, hey Py,” Demo says, rubbing his chest where the gas mask smashed into him. “You lookin’ for Engie? He’s back in the lab still.” Demo jerks a thumb toward the direction he just came from.

“Hrrnn Nnrr,” Pyro says with a shake of their head.

“You’re… _nae_ lookin’ for Engie?”

“Grrhh!” Pyro nods. “Hrrddurrrda, hrr mbbbmmuhuh, mhuhuh brurda.” They jam a finger into Demo’s already bruised chest.

“You’re…lookin’ for me?”

Pyro nods. Without any further ceremony, they turn around and tug at the zipper around their neck. Before Demo can even think to sneak a peak, it’s zipped back up again and Pyro’s removed something from inside it. They slap the something over Demo’s head.

It’s a graduation cap, with a couple of footballs hanging off the tassel. Demo blinks for a few seconds, watching the footballs swing methodically in front of his face.

“Uh…”

Pyro starts clapping. They then nod, looking around at an imaginary audience as though encouraging them to clap too. This goes on for a good thirty seconds.

Eventually, when he’s sure Pyro is done, Demo says, “Ah. Thank you Pyro. That’s very…nice of you tae say.”

He could play guessing games all day, but it would probably go nowhere and he doesn’t want to be late. Thankfully, his interpretation is close enough, and Pyro sequels in delight. Before he can say goodbye, Pyro scoops the cap of his head and rushes off down the hall.

Demo shakes his head. Damn, that kid sure is strange.

* * *

“Hello Demoman,” Soldier says, pushing into Demo’s half open room.

“Hey,” Demo says from the desk. He had been trying to calm his nerves by making a few stickies, but it wasn’t going well. It was also a very stupid idea in retrospect; frazzled bomb makers usually end up dead.

“Ready to go?”

It’s like nothing has happened. They go to the roof, crack open the beers, and start talking about the week just like any other night. Demo feels sick. All of the sudden he realizes Soldier has been avoiding the subject, in an effort to not cause a scene.

This is better anyways, Demo supposes. Soldier’s decided to let Demo down gently, instead of rejecting him up front. At least this way they can preserve their friendship, but the thought still saddens him. It’s Spy’s fault really, giving him false hope; there was a one in a million chance Soldier would ever think of him like that, and planning for it was the sort of foolish optimism that got people like him killed. Now, he was back at square one.

Demo is once again picking at the label on his bottle when he hears Soldier say, “Demoman, there is something I need to tell you.”

He freezes. “Aye?” he asks, trying not to let his voice tremble.

“Last week you told me something very important, and I said I would think about it. Well, I did, and now I want to ask you something.”

“Oh,” Demo says, and it takes all his willpower not to run off into the desert and never be seen again. “And what is that?”

Solider lifts his helmet off his head and sets it in his lap. Demo doesn’t realize the significance of it, too spellbound by the glittering stars in Soldier’s electric blue eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s like someone turned on the stadium lights.

“What.”

“I have been thinking all week,” Soldier continues, “and I’m still not sure how I feel about you. So I would like to kiss you, to know for sure.”

This isn’t happening. This is some whiskey induced fantasy dream, and any moment he’ll wake up upside down on top of Sniper’s van. In what universe would Soldier want to kiss him?

But the American is still right in front of him, tilting his head and patiently waiting for a response.

“Er..”

Yes! Say yes before he changes his mind!

“Huk...ger…I…”

Oh shit. How do you make words again?

“I…y-yes. Yes you can kiss me.”

Soldier nods, and scoots a bit closer. Demo thinks he’s going to faint.

This has to be some sort of trick. Any second now, the rest of the team is going to pop out of the stairwell and laugh at his stupid mug, and the fact that his mouth is still hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies. He swallows.

Soldier leans in and Demo is about to think another string of _this isn’t happening_ s when their lips connect, and there’s no space left in his brain for anything. The kiss is soft and sweet and Demo knows he’s a good kisser, but suddenly he forgets everything he’s ever learned. This is everything he’s ever hoped for. Soldier is leaning into him, and even though their teeth click slightly against each other, it couldn’t be more brilliant. And now he’s wasting it by thinking of all the ways it could go wrong.

The kiss is almost over.

Demo panics. It’s like when you have to restart a song because you weren’t listening proper the first time, only Demo can’t restart a kiss, and _shit why didn’t he enjoy it while it was happening_?

It’s over. Soldier stops kissing him.

But he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, Soldier presses their foreheads together, gently touching their noses in an bunny kiss. It’s hard to see him; the other man is so close he’s nothing but a dark shape in the night. Not to mention Demo still has his blind side, leaving only the view of Soldier that paints him against the desert backdrop.

“Demo,” Soldier whispers, his voice dissipating in the dry air, “I think I like you a lot too.”

The Demoman makes a noise. It was probably supposed to be words at some point.

Soldier grins, taking Demo’s hand in his own. Eventually, sitting on the dark rooftop, sharing the same breath while their fingers intertwined, Demo regains a bit of his composure.

“Well…that’s just groovy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and the choclate factory is a bit too young for Demo. Scout loved it.
> 
> also “no body ever fell in love without being a little bit brave” is the greatest line ever written and you don’t even say it in a cut scene


	4. +Two+

What a beautiful day.

Actually it’s a shit day, Sawmill is always crappy, gloomy, and filled with two inches of stagnant water, but to the Demoman it’s the most picturesque battlefield in the world.

It’s Saturday, only two days since Soldier had kissed him. Friday had been a blur, the reality not yet sunk in, the battle just like any other. But then there had been the _after battle_ , Soldier pulling him aside, saying they needed to talk, and then going to his room for some privacy.

The “talk” turned into kissing. A lot of kissing. Demo still wasn’t really sure what was happening, but honestly at that point he no longer cared. They left Soldier’s room a little more disheveled than when they entered.

And now it’s the weekend, a full day, and the world can’t be brighter.

He eats his eggs, sitting shoulder to shoulder with the Soldier. Some of the team has left for the weekend, and others will be leaving after breakfast, but Demo and Soldier are staying. It’s something Demo agreed to while still drunk on kisses, but not something he regrets.

Scout is unintentionally starting something with Soldier, insulting Nixon’s integrity or something, and Soldier jumps at the bait. Demo is only vaguely interested. He never paid attention to politics, let alone American politics, and is only really involved in the conversation so he can stare at Soldier.

It’s so much easier now. Before, he stared across the tables like a love struck teenager, heart eyes and all. (Well, heart **eye**.) Now he can look at Soldier without fear of making a scene, letting him relax while also enjoying his boyfriend’s company.

The thought makes him jump. Is that the right word for Soldier? Boyfriend? He knows they made confessions and stuff, and did a lot of making out, but does that really make them an item? He pokes as his eggs.

It’s something he’ll have to ask Soldier about later. For now, even if he’s not exactly clear on _where_ they stand, he’s happy to be there.

As Soldier bellows something, and grabs Scout by the collar of his shirt, Demo notices the Engineer staring at them from across the cafeteria. It’s odd, mainly because Engie almost always heads home for the weekends, rain or shine. Additionally, it’s even more odd because he’s wearing his goggles during a meal.

The thick black glass hides his eyes, but Demo gets the distinct impression that Engie is glaring at him.

Shit. Did some of his thermacure spill onto Engie’s side of the lab again? If so, he’s probably planning on killing him. The last time that happened, Engie mistook it for oil and ended up with a highly combustible substance on his grease rag. Demo makes a mental note to avoid him for the rest of the weekend.

* * *

Fights with Scout seem to be this weekend's trend.

“Yeah?” Scout spits, what ever he had come to the training yard for forgotten. “Well at least girls give me a second look. You ain’t so lucky. You probably can’t even give ‘em a _first_ look, can ya Cyclops?”

Despite it being a rather juvenile insult, Demo brings his fist into Scout’s face anyways.

Demo can’t even remember why this particular argument started, only that it ends the way all their fights do. They roll on the ground for a few minutes, throwing punches and generally not using any real combat techniques whatsoever, until they get bored and break apart. Scout slinks off to go find Medic, leaving Demo in the yard alone.

Well, mostly alone.

“You really can’t stand that kid, can you?”

Demo shrugs at the Sniper. “He’s alright. Reminds me why I dunnae usually stay here on the weekends, though.”

“ _He’s alright_?” Sniper asks. “You two can barely be in the same room without beating the shit out of each other. You’re worse than him and Soldier.”

“That’s just how real men spend time together. Nae that you would know anythin’ about that.” He plops down next to Sniper, the Australian still holding his rifle down the range. Apparently, fistfights aren’t conducive to his practice session.

“Huh,” Sniper snorts. “Kids back home would always make fun of me for being skinny and not wanting to punch someone’s teeth out as a ‘how do you do?’. I like my privacy. And now, I can kill a man in eleven ways just with a pencil. Still think _you’re_ a real man by comparison?”

“Aye,” Demo grins, though he realizes he’s missing a tooth as he does so.

Sniper smirks back, despite himself. “You’re a real oaf, you know that?”

“Says the guy who keeps his toenail clippings.”

“Hey,” Sniper interjects, “you never know when those might be useful.”

“Yeah, I do. And the answer is ‘never’.”

Sniper rolls his eyes, and lifts one of them back to the scope. “You should go find a dispenser for that tooth of yours.”

“I thought you were a Real Man, not me Mum.”

“Apparently, I’m both.” Sniper takes aim, still his breath even as he finishes his sentence.

Demo stands, knowing better than to interrupt him. As he passes through the front door, he hears a gunshot. Without turning around, he would bet a year’s salary it’s a perfect hit.

* * *

“How’s it goin’?” Demo asks the Engineer, completely forgetting about his mental note.

“Hrm,” Engie grunts.

Well that was weird. Demo steps over to the active dispenser in the corner, pulling up a chair to let it do its magic.

“Need help with anythin’?” He tries, aiming to start a little conversation.

“No,” Engie replies shortly.

Okay, something’s definitely up. Anxiously, Demo looks over at his side of the lab. No, all his chemicals are exactly where they should be: neatly labeled and securely stacked. What has he done now to get on the Texan’s bad side?

“It’s odd seeing you out here for the weekend.” That’s something the Engineer might not brush off.

Engie looks up. His goggles are blank and expressionless, bottomless inky pits in the dimly lit room.

“I could say the same to you,” he says plainly.

Ice shoots through Demo’s veins. Engie couldn’t know about…could he?

Regardless, Demo no longer had the appetite for conversation. He sits in the dark basement no longer than necessary, escaping as soon as the dispenser has done its job.

* * *

Demo’s sad to see the weekend go. It’s much harder to sneak in make out sessions when they’re spending the day killing REDs. He makes it all the way to Thursday, the first Grenades in two weeks he hasn’t been dreading.

“A triple airshot! Can you believe it? And he just says ‘vell, at least you got zem eventually.’ Goddamned Kraut.”

Soldier lowers his first, having been shaking it at the sky while ranting about the Medic.

“I think a triple airshot is very impressive,” Demo says solemnly.

“No one likes a kiss-ass, Demo,” Soldier grumbles, calming down for the first time that night.

Demo chuckles, nudging Soldier in the side.

“I just wish he wouldn’t leave me when he thinks I cannot handle something,” Soldier complains, going back to his earlier point. “He should have a little faith, not just run off like some scared turkey with a dentist appointment.”

Demo’s chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh, one that Soldier eventually joins in on. “Now _there’s_ an image,” he says, picturing Medic with feathers flying out behind him. After a few moments, Demo pauses. “Actually, that reminds me o’ somethin’. I almost forgot.”

He begins to shuffle with something in his pocket, Soldier leaning over inquisitively to see what it might be. Eventually, he pulls out a little star chart, complete with annotations. He hands it to the Soldier.

It’s detailed, white lines connecting the stars while grey ones paint pictures. On it, in an almost perfect forgery, are four stars connected with a fine white line. Soldier fingers it delicately, the paper unfolding under his touch.

“What is this?”

“ _That_ ,” Demo grins, “is Turcia. The first and only American constellation.”

Removing a grey pen from his pocket, he carefully traces a turkey around the four stars while Soldier holds the chart in place. When he’s done, the grandiose bird stands proudly on the page, a bit bolder than the constellations behind it.

“It’s beautiful,” Soldier says quietly.

When he looks at Demo, his eyes are a little wet.

Demo didn’t expect that strong of a reaction. He blinks in suprsie.

“What’s the matter, lad? Never gotten a present before?”

“No, it’s just…” Soldier wipes the dampness from his eyes. “I say a lot of stupid things, I know. I…no one has ever really taken me seriously before.”

“O’ course I take you seriously.” Demo places one hand on Soldier’s back and the other on his hands. “I wasnae grandstandin’ before when I said what you say is worthwhile. I think the world of you. Everythin’ you say is important by simple virtue of you’re the one sayin’ it.”

Soldier wipes at his eyes a bit harder and gives Demo a watery grin. “Thank you Demo.” He pulls the Demoman into a hug, careful not to crush the star chart between them. Even after they break apart again, Demo keeps one arm wrapped around him, sitting with Soldier in companionable silence. He watches Soldier alternate between gazing at the stars and his little hand drawn turkey, and he knows he’s done a good thing.

“You know,” he says after a few minutes, “as much as I like all the kissin’, I was beginin’ tae miss this. You, me, just talkin’ over a couple o’ drinks. Nae a care in the world.”

Soldier drops his head onto Demo’s shoulder. “You make it sound like kissing is stressful,” he laughs.

“Pssh no, o’ course nae. Cannae be stressful when I’m so bloody good at it.”

“Ha! You’re not _that_ great at it. I’m a _much_ better kisser, private.”

Demo pushes them apart so he could look at the shit-eating grin on Soldier’s face. “That sound like a _challenge_ , boyo. And a true Scotsman never backs down from a challenge.”

“Well then you better start kissing me,” Soldier says, moving up the edge of his helmet, “otherwise I’ll start to think you’re no true Scotsman.”

Demo doesn’t waste any time after that. He pushes his lips against Soldier’s, deepening the kiss as soon Soldier responds. Soon, Soldier is flat on his back opening his mouth slightly, letting Demo push in with his tongue. Lying like this is dangerous as hell, a three-story drop only a few inches away, but that makes it all the more exciting. The kiss is almost playful, darting in and out of each other’s mouth like a game of tag, learning when to tease and when to go in for the kill. The beer forgotten, they spend the rest of the night like that.

Finally, Demo helps Soldier to his feet when they declare it’s time for bed. Soldier leans on him more than strictly necessary, they’re not that drunk, but Demo doesn’t care in the slightest. They make it to the stairs, the path long and narrow until it reaches a landing. It is at this landing where they run into the Spy.

Soldier jumps away immediately, confirming Demo’s suspicions about not needing him.

“What are you doing here, crouton?” Soldier demands. “I didn’t realize this was the frilly pantsuit convention.”

Spy eyes Soldier blandly before addressing the both of them. “If you are trying to be subtle, I suggest not taking up espionage work. You were almost just discovered. If I had not been here, you would have walked directly into the Scout coming in from his midnight run.”

A jolt of fear runs up the Demoman’s spine. Soldier has different concerns.

“Watch were you throw your accusations, maggot! We were doing nothing but enjoying a manly drink on the roof.”

Spy tilts his head. “You have a hickey.”

Soldier snaps a hand over his neck, although on the opposite side of the developing bruise. He’s already turned red as a beet when Demo butts in.

“Soldier, Spy knows. He’s just tryin’ tae help.”

Soldier squirms for a few moments, deciding if he still has anything to fear. Eventually, his shoulders relax, and he gives Spy a judgmental eye instead of a murderous one.

“Thank you Spy,” Demo says. “We’ll be more careful next time.”

“Then I suggest not leaving unfinished beer on the roof. If Sniper sees that, he may get suspicious.”

Spy turns, pulling out his watch as he takes a few steps down the stairs. “You will not last long at this rate. I give you three weeks.”

They wait in silence for the cigarette stink to disappear, Demo turning up the stairs to retrieve their forgotten case.

“Figures Frenchie would figure it out,” Soldier says, trailing behind the Demoman.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m the one who told him. But it’s nae that bad, right? Spy’s good at keepin’ secrets, almost as good as he is stealin’ ‘em. And, as long as it’s just the three of us that know, it’s not that risky.”

“Four,” Soldier corrects, staring out forlornly over the desert landscape.

“Three,” Demo repeats, knowing Soldier has difficulty with math sometimes.

Soldier shakes his head. “With Spy, that makes four.”

Demo feels a tickle of apprehension at the base of his neck. “Soldier,” he says carefully, “who exactly know about us?”

Soldier turns away from the edge of the roof, and counts them off on his fingers. “You, me, Spy, and Engie.”

Demo nearly drops the beer. “ _The Engineer_ knows about us?”

“Oh. Yeah. Did I not tell you?”

“No you dinnae bloody tell me!”

Something is twisting in the pit of Demo’s stomach. He remembers back to the past week, every stony glare, every curt dismissal, it all makes sense now. The Engineer knows. And he’s _pissed_.

Soldier sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I told him, but only sort of. Do you remember back when I said I needed to think about whether I liked you or not? Well I did, I thought really hard. But Grenades was coming up and I still wasn’t sure so I had to ask someone who’s smart for help. Engie’s the smartest person I know, so I asked him what you should do if you’re not sure if you like someone. He said you should kiss them, and then you would know. So I followed his advice, and it worked!”

Demo lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding. “Alright, that’s fine then. As long as he just knows that you were goin’ tae kiss someone, that isnae so bad.”

“Oh, no he knows it was you. And I told him all about the kiss afterwards too.”

This time, Demo does drop the beer.

“He wanted to know how it went,” Soldier continues, “and I was really excited about the kiss so I told him. It’s okay: Engie’s nice. He won’t tell anybody.”

Nice? Engie? Maybe that hometown southern gentleman façade convinced Soldier, but Demo certainly isn’t fooled. The Texan has a psychotic streak a mile wide.

“Maybe he’s nice tae _you_ , but tae me…” Demo shudders, thinking about some of the things he’s seen in that lab. He takes a breath, trying to look at the situation rationally. “Never mind. Unless he does somethin’ about it, there’s nothin’ tae worry about. And he’s the only one you told, so we should be fine.”

“Yeah,” Soldier agrees, bending down to help scrape up some of the broken beer bottles. Then he stops, remembering something suddenly. “Oh, and Pyro.”

“Pyro?” Demo balks. “ _Pyro_?”

He thinks if he has any more shocks tonight he’s going to have a heart attack right here on the roof.

Soldier shrugs, lifting the case from the shell-shocked Demoman. “Yeah. Pyro hangs around the labs sometimes. I think they might have been in there when I told Engie.”

“Pyro,” Demo repeats. “Well that’s just…great. Now there are five of us that know, more than half the team. Are there any other surprises you want tae lay on me tonight, Solly?”

Soldier puts a hand to his chin, and Demo thinks he’s actually come up with another one. But then Soldier shakes his head, and Demo’s shoulders sink in relief.

“I think that’s all.”

“Great. Fantastic. I’m goin’ tae go to sleep and try ‘n forget about me problems.”

“Works for me,” Soldier says, and follows him toward the staircase.

* * *

Demo is in bed, eye half closed, covers up to his chin, when he realizes something.

“Oooooh. ‘Congratulations.’ Now I get it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Turcia” is latin for “Turkey”. Don’t tell soldier his constellation is in a language that isn’t American


	5. +Three+

The Engineer wants to have a talk with him.

He wonders if it’s a good idea to make a will.

The Texan had ambushed him after breakfast, arranging a meeting in the lab tonight to discuss “team dynamics.” It’s the most thinly veiled way to say “I want to talk about you getting frisky with Soldier” Demo’s ever heard, but he doesn’t dare miss it. Certainly whatever Engineer plans for him are can’t be as bad as what would happen if he doesn’t show.

When he arrives at the lab, Engineer is tinkering with one of his machines. That’s a bit of a relief; at least he isn’t one hundred percent focused on the Demoman.

“Howdy, Demo,” he says, not looking up. “Take a seat.”

“I’ll stand, thank you.”

“Sit,” Engie commands.

Demo sits.

After a minute, Engie finishes what he’s working on and pulls out a chair. He leans forward, mechanical hand laced through his human one, giving the clear message this is some kind of interrogation.

“Been having fun?”

Demo’s mouth goes dry. “Can you be more specific?”

It’s pointless to play the ignorance card, but Demo does it anyways.

Engie pushes his goggles onto his forehead. Beneath them, his eyes are a steel blue, cold like the paint on his sentries.

“I’m talking about you and Soldier.”

That’s what Demo was dreading. Even with respawn, he doesn’t want to tangle with the Texan. He hasn’t brought his sword to the lab since it is as conspicuous as it is useful, but his srumpy bottle is here, only a few steps away. There are few live bombs down here too, but Demo doesn’t want to resort to that. (He doesn’t even want to use the scrumpy bottle if he can help it.)

Maybe he can talk the Engineer down? He has to find out just how mad Engie is first, and that means testing the waters.

“What about me ‘n Soldier?”

“Don’t play games with me, boy.”

Demo can’t help but let his lip curl. “Boy” is an insult reserved for REDs, and for Scout when he’s done something particularly heinous. Engie isn’t just regular pissed: he’s _advanced_ pissed.

“Me ‘n Soldier are just fine, thanks for askin’. Now, unless you got somethin’ tae say tae me Toymaker, I’m goin’ tae get goin’.” Demo stands.

“I _do_ have something to say, so you can just sit right back down.” Engie waits until Demo is seated before continuing his speech. “Soldier is a good man, all foam and no beer, but a good man. I don’t like seeing him manipulated by people.”

“Ha!” Demo barks. “You goin’ tae accuse me o’ ‘corruptin’’ him or somethin’? Forget it. You can take your phony concern ‘n shove it same place you keep your wrench.”

The first flare of real anger sparks across Engie’s face.

“You think I don’t care about Soldier? That’s rich coming from someone who’s willing to turn him over to Spy.”

Well. That certainly took a turn.

“Spy? What does he have to with anythin’?” Demo scoffs.

“Stop playing dumb, I’ve had just about enough of that,” Engie growls. “Soldier told me how you spilled everything to Spy. Did you even wait a _second_ after seducing him before you betrayed his trust? At first I was willing to live and let live, but this? You’re despicable.”

Demo’s halfway between insulted and relieved. It’s all a misunderstanding. He can stop eyeing his scrumpy bottle while planning to kick Engie in the balls.

“Engie,” he says, keeping his voice even enough not to trigger the other man, “I dinnae ‘seduce’ Soldier. I like him. The only reason Spy knows is because he figured it out before either of us.”

Engie laughs darkly. “And what you mean by that is Spy’s tricked the both of you. Do you know how easy it is to blackmail with information like _that_?”

Well there’s no reason to be rude about it. Demo sighs, relaxing the tension in his shoulder.

“I get it Engie,” Demo insists. “I really do. You dunnae want Soldier tae be hurt, and you think me ‘n Spy are out to do that. We’re nae. I care about Soldier, just as much as you do, and I wouldnae tell Spy about us if I thought he would use the information against him.”

Finally, Engie’s anger fades a little. He eyes the Demoman, judging the sincerity of his words.

“You know me, Engie,” Demo continues, “I’m nae out to mess around, or ruin someone’s life. Soldier ‘n I make each other happy, and it’s nothin’ more sinister than that. I promise.”

The Engineer takes a breath. “I’ll admit, you’ve seemed like the sort to beguile someone else. But then again, I didn’t take you for a sissy in the first place, so what do I know?”

Demo stiffens at the slur. Despite the insult, he knows Soldier is important to both of them, and that’s enough common ground to try and make peace.

“It’s genuine, what we got.” It’s also a little weird being poetic in front of the Engineer. “Do you think you can take that on faith, since we both want him tae be happy?”

Demo extends his hand.

Finally, it seems like Engie is convinced. He shakes Demo’s hand, firm and unwavering. Demo grins, satisfied with his persuasion skills. Maybe now he can return to the lab in peace.

“But,” Engie says, his grip tightening like a vice, “If I find out you hurt him, or break his heart, there will be no place on earth your plaid-loving ass can hide. Are we clear?”

Demo gulps and nods. Maybe he’ll leave his scrumpy bottle down here, just in case.

* * *

“Me and Engie had a little chat yesterday evening,” Demo tells Soldier as he passes him a beer.

They're in the training yard, lying back on a few lifted reclining chairs as they watch the sunset. It had been frustrating, wanting to talk a lot more with one another, but not wanting to ruin the sanctity of the roof with non-Grenades night. This spot is Soldier’s idea; a deck above where the ammo is kept that doesn’t have a use otherwise. He spotted it while back during rocket-jumping practice, but never considered it until now.

“Really?” Soldier asks, cracking his bottle open. “What about?”

“Oh, you know the ole’ ‘threaten someone with a shotgun just so he knows you’re a ultra-manly arsewipe’ routine you do every time your kid gets a new boyfriend. Basically that, only in a creepy basement.”

“He threatened you with a shotgun?” Solider balks, beer halfway to his lips. “Why would he do that?”

“Nae a shotgun, but still pretty intimdatin’. If you want the short version, it’s because he thinks I’m yankin’ you around.”

Soldier’s face presses into a look of concern, the wheels in his head creaking to life.

“Hey,” Demo says, stopping him short, “the two of us worked it out. There’s no reason to worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Still, he should not be threatening people on my behalf,” Soldier insists. “I’m plenty capable of threatening people myself!”

Demo laughs, tilting his head back and feeling the last rays of sun on his face. “That you are, Solly. That you are.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, watching the sky turn to a rosy pink. Soldier deems it all right to interrupt.

“So. You think you’re my boyfriend?”

Demo clenches his fists nervously. “Well. We’ve been doin’ stuff like this for little over a week. I thought that was an appropriate amount of time to consider us…that.”

“You can’t be my boyfriend. You haven’t asked me to go steady.”

Soldier grins at him, and Demo laughs in relief. He turns to Soldier, grabbing his hand in mischievous delight. Using the armrest as support, he props their hands up between them.

“In that case: Soldier, would you like to go steady with me?”

“I would love to, Demoman.”

They lean in for a kiss, laughing as they do. This is the way things should be. Out, relaxing, being together. Who could want anything more?

“Perhaps if you stayed out of the way like everyone wants you to, you wouldn’t get into so much trouble!”

Spy’s usually quiet voice jerks them out of their trance. They pull apart, sharing a startled glance that turns into real panic when Sniper’s voice follows.

“I _was_ out of the way, you bloody Spook! Why are you getting so worked up over a fucking mug?”

Demo is halfway out of his chair when the pair round the corner. Spy is hot on Sniper’s heels; the Australian power walking like it’s the devil himself. He stops when he sees the men in the reclining chairs.

“Why do you two look so guilty?” Sniper asks. “We interrupting your make-out session or something?”

Pure electricity runs through the Demoman, making his mouth flap open like a fish. Thankfully, Soldier still has his wits about him.

“I do not have to takes lessons from _you_ about slinking around looking guilty!” Soldier shouts, shaking his fist. The effect isn’t as menacing while he’s still sitting down. “This too much like camping that you had to interrupt?”

Being ornery by nature has its perks, and Soldier’s temper comes off as normal.

“I wasn’t slinking around,” Sniper says, rolling his eyes. “I just forgot my mug up here.” At his words, he walks forward and picks his mug off the railing.

Spy stands by, looking overly nonchalant, which means he’s probably tense as a bowstring. He pointedly doesn’t make eye contact with the Demoman.

As Sniper walks back the way he and Spy came, he gives Demo and Soldier one searching look.

“No need to be so strung out, I’m leaving now. You two lovebirds can get back to whatever.” With that he’s gone, and Demo lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Soldier leaps to his feet and shouts after Sniper, “Good riddance! This is a porch not a campground!” He continues to hurl insults at the Australian as Demo gets to his feet.

Taking a deep breath, he realizes he’s shaking. He looks over at Spy. “That was too bloody close. If we hadnae heard you…”

“I tried to give sufficient warning,” Spy nods. “I would complain about being pigeonholed as your designated lookout, but it seems you two need more of my help than anticipated.”

“Thanks Spy.” Demo rubs his temples. “At least that’s over.”

“I think not,” Spy belies.

A jolt of terror shoots through the Demoman. He shares a look with Soldier, who has finally decided to join him.

“But…he was jokin’, right? He wasnae actually sayin’…”

“Perhaps not,” Spy agrees. “But what happens when he jokes to the rest of the team? This could get out of hand quickly.”

Demo’s head sinks further into his hands. His heartbeat seems extremely loud in his own ears, and only quiets when he feels Soldier’s hand on his shoulder. He looks to see his boyfriend giving him a look of reassurance, stepping closer and giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“It’s okay, Demo. Nothing bad has happened yet,” Soldier tells him, and he relaxes despite himself.

Taking a deep breath, he looks between Spy and Soldier. “I should…tell him, shouldnae I?”

Soldier hesitates, and he looks at Spy. The Spy nods.

“I think that would be for the best.” He then relents, seeing Demo’s expression. “If it would be easier, I could tell him for you.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

Spy nods. “I will. Though, I believe I should do so quickly, so the bushman does not cause more damage than he already has.”

He bows out gracefully, pursuing Sniper around the corner.

Demo slumps, the stress making him want to curl up on the deck and die. Instead, he wraps an arm around Soldier’s waist and draws him into a half hug. They stay like that a few minutes, watching the sunset introspectively.

“We’re nae meant for all this sneakin’ around, Soldier,” Demo notes after a while.

Soldier nods. “Yeah. But we have to. We don’t know who’s going to be pissed about it.”

They stand for a few minutes more, finally moving when Soldier begins to tug Demo towards their chairs.

“Come on. We still have evening to enjoy.”

Demo smiles, and joins him at the vista.


	6. +Four+

Even though Demo knew some sort of confrontation with the Sniper was coming, he didn’t expect it to come in the form of Sniper walking down the hall carrying an overlarge cardboard box.

“Hey! Demo! I got something for you.” Sniper steps up, and deposits the box in Demo’s hands.

“Er…”

“”S just a little apology present. I didn’t mean to be such an ass the other day, and I wanted to make it up to you.”

“Oh,” Demo grunts. At least Sniper gets straight to the point, unlike some know-it-all Texans he knows. “So…I take it Spy talked with you about…all o’ that?”

Sniper nods, delightedly cheerful. “Yeah, no worries. I’m fine with you two being poofs, though I can’t say I’m not surprised. Anyway, I wasn’t sure how many rubbers you would want, but I thought ‘well, twice as many pricks’ so I just put in a couple of boxes.”

Demo is about to ask Sniper what the fuck he was talking about when he looks into the box. Immediately, his cheeks go warm when its contents turn out to be dozens upon dozens of condoms, complete with bottles of lube and other toys Demo assumes are for sexual gratification.

“I’m not going to pretend I know what goes on between two blokes,” Sniper continues, oblivious to Demo’s chagrin, “but I figured this is all the stuff a couple of people need to have a good time. Congratulations on getting laid, by the way.”

Demo stutters for a solid minute, bashfulness making his tongue do somersaults. Eventually, he manages to say, “ _Jesus_ Sniper, It’s nae like…we havenae even _talked_ about…I dunnae even know…”

Sniper raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know? Don’t know where to stick it? I mean I know it’s different than on a Sheila, but-”

“ _Sniper_ ,” Demo interrupts. “ _Please_ stop talking.”

Sniper grins, and Demo isn’t sure whether the man is pulling his leg, or actually thinks this is an appropriate apology gift.

“Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say,” Sniper finishes. “That and sorry. So, I’ll be heading off now. Have fun with that.”

Sniper nods at the box, and starts off down the hall. Just when Demo thinks the conversation is mercifully over, Sniper turns with one final thought.

“Oh, quick question. If Solly’s your boyfriend now, does that mean I get promoted to ‘best mate’?”

“ _Mundy. **Go**_.”

Sniper smirks, and leaves the flustered Demoman to his box of trinkets.

* * *

Despite going about it in the worst possible way, Sniper does have a good point. Demo has never really considered anything sexual between him and Soldier, and the thought of bringing it up terrifies him. How quickly does Soldier expect things to move? If he were a girl, they’d definitely have done it by now, Demo knows that much. But neither of them are girls, and Demo is still not used to the whole being gay thing. Are you supposed to have a conversation about who tops? Because that’s a can of worms Demo _really_ doesn’t want to open.

He decides the only thing to do is talk about it.

The anticipation is killing him. Demo doesn’t want to wait until Grenades tomorrow night; he just wants to get this over with as quickly as possible. During dinner, he steels his nerves and leans over toward Soldier.

“Can I talk tae you ‘bout somethin’ after supper? It’s important.”

Soldier nods, chewing a mouthful of beef stroganoff as a little of sour cream drips down his chin. If he notes the hint of worry in Demo’s voice, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s not the only one at the table though, and Engie shoots Demo a death glare.

Demo rolls his eye. _I’m nae breaking up with him you bloody buttinski_ , he thinks at the Engineer, but Engie doesn’t receive the telepathic message.

After dinner, he’s not sure where to go. Going to either of their rooms is out of the question; he doesn’t want Soldier thinking there’s some sort of subliminal messaging going on, especially when they’re probably going to sit on the bed. Most other areas of the base are occupied at this time of day, and the lab will be abandoned but dismal. Really, there’s no place to go but back out to the deck.

Someone’s already stolen back the reclining chairs, but Demo wants to stand anyway. Important talk and all that.

They lean against the railing, Soldier still going on about what Scout said at supper.

“I had to run _seven miles_ in the _snow_ for mouthing off,” he rants, “and kids these days just get a rap on the knuckles for all their prissy footing and indecent haircuts. What is the world coming to?”

“Hmm,” Demo agrees absentmindedly.

“You alright, Demoman?” Soldier asks, suddenly concerned. “Is it something bad you wanted to talk about?”

“What?” Demo starts, pushing off the railing and folding his arms over his chest. “No, no. Nothin’ bad. Well…I hope nothin’ bad. It’s up to you, I guess.”

Soldier tilts his head. “I don’t get it.”

Demo rubs the back of his neck, knowing he should look at Soldier but too nervous to hold his gaze for long. He sighs. “Let me start over. We’ve been together for a while now, and usually at some point in a relationship people decide to…take it to the next level. So I thought we should talk about that. The next level.”

“You mean like sharing gum?” Soldier asks plainly.

“Uh, no.” Demo swallows, embarrassed that he’s going to have to say it aloud. “I mean physical stuff. Sex. I’m talkin’ about sex.”

“Oh,” is all Soldier says.

Soldier turns, leaning out over the railing and over the yard. He’s quiet for a long time, which doesn’t help to improve Demo’s neurasthenia.

Several failed attempts at speaking later, Demo manages to cough out, “Well, this is a pretty terrible way o’ talkin’ about it.”

Soldier looks up, as though just remembering Demo is there. He tilts his head again, making the helmet slip slightly.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

Soldier stands back form the ledge and wrings his hands. For the first time, Demo realizes that Soldier is probably just as nervous as he is, and might have been dreading this conversation too.

“I’ve been worried this was coming,” Soldier begins.

Well shit.

“The thing is,” he says, managing to keep the Demoman in view, “when you first said you liked me, I didn’t know what to think. I went to Engie, and I was really scared, because I’d never liked anyone before. For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me.”

Demo is about to insist “there’s nothing wrong with you,” or at least something else a good boyfriend should say, but Soldier holds up a hand to stop him. Demo closes his mouth, waiting for Soldier to finish.

Solider folds his arms cross his chest, the pressure of maintaining eye contact too much for him. “Eventually I just figured I was in love with America and that there just wasn’t enough room in my heart for anything but war. But we’ve been kissing and holding hands and saying we like each other and I _do_ like all that. But not…anything else.”

Demo watches the Soldier pick a scab on his hand. He feels guilty—Soldier thinks he started this conversation just to pressure him into sex.

“It’s not your fault,” Soldier continues to ramble. “I don’t want to do stuff with _anyone_ , guys or girls. I just want to do the nice parts of being with you, without all the un-nice parts. But if you want to have sex, I won’t…I’m sorry. I just won’t be able to do that.”

At the very end, Soldier’s voice breaks and he quickly turns away.

Demo doesn’t even wait a full minute to process the little speech before wrapping his arms around Soldier’s middle. Soldier gives a squeak of surprise, expecting a condescending remark at the very least. Instead, Demo buries his face in Soldier’s shoulder and sighs.

“You dunnae have tae worry about a thing, luv,” Demo laughs in relief. “I was worried about _you_ wantin’ tae take it further. Shite, this is all goin’ too fast for me already.”

“You mean…you _don’t_ want to have sex?” Soldier asks, twisting around trying to see the Demoman.

“No, nae right now,” Demo affirms. “And defiantly nae if it’s somethin’ you dunnae want.”

Soldier’s shoulders sag in relief. He returns Demo’s hug, and the two of them cradle each other in comfortable silence for as long as it takes to realize how happy they truly are.

* * *

When returning from the deck, they make the mistake or walking past the infirmary.

“ _Sie sind ein Narr!_ ” comes from within the swinging doors. A second later, something heavy and wet lands against them with a loud SPLAT. Demo and Soldier share a look.

Soldier raises his eyebrows excitedly. Demo shakes his head. Soldier goes in anyway.

“ _Du wagst es, wieder hierher zu kommen?_ ” Medic hollers, ignoring the appearance of the two onlookers. “ _Du großer Lümmel!_ ”

Heavy folds his arms, looking at the doctor with an unamused expression. Medic is worse off, his glasses slightly askew and lab coat wrinkled; the gooey thing splattered against the door seems to have been thrown by him.

As if on cue, Medic hurls one of Heavy’s books at the man. Heavy doesn’t even need to sidestep it; he merely gives a look of disapproval as it smacks harmlessly a few feet to the left.

“Doctor should work on aim,” he notes.

“Ha!” Medic barks. “Says the man who sits in one place spinning his gun until he hits something.”

Heavy remains indifferent. “No need for talking. Heavy has come to grab things. Am no longer welcome here, obviously.”

“Fah! Fine, take them,” Medic says, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Your useless books were getting in the way of my experiments.”

Medic turns, about to return to said experiment. Lying on the examination table is a live cuttlefish; apparently, without Heavy’s body for human experimentation, Medic has turned his frustrations onto cephalopods. Demo feels his concern mount.

The situation is made that much worse when Soldier decides to open his mouth.

“What exactly is the problem here, cupcake?”

Demo facepalms.

Medic whirls on the Soldier. His eyes are ablaze, and, for a second Demo thinks he’s just going to tell Soldier to fuck off. But after a brief moment of suppressed rage, Medic says, “The _problem_ is that Heavy thinks his interpretations of literature are oh-so-much better than us common people.”

Heavy snorts. “Pot calls kettle black.”

“Do not accuse _me_ of being a hypocrite!” Medic bites back. “I am the not the one waving around my narrow worldview like I’m Shakespearicles. You _mocked_ me! You made like your opinions are superior to mine just because you’re some _verdammt_ alumnus! Vell I tell you: I have never needed some institutionalized education for vhat I do, and I certainly don’t need one to read a book!”

Ouch. This seems to run a lot deeper than Demo thought. And here Spy always talked about it like it was some lover’s spat. He’s about to take Soldier by the arm and beat a graceful retreat, when his boyfriend decides his input is needed.

“Is that what this is all about, doc? You don’t think you’re smart enough?”

Medic’s face immediately passes from indignation to shock. “Vhat? Nein! I did not say that.” He folds his arms over his chest defensively.

Demo is stunned by how quickly the mood of the room has changed. He watches as Soldier steps up and places a hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

“Listen here sweetheart, I know a thing or two about not feeling smart,” he begins. “In fact, I am probably the most qualified person on this base to speak on the subject. Sometimes, you think that because someone says things fast, or uses bigger words than you do, they’re lording it over you like some big victory flag that says ‘fuck you’. Only they aren’t. That’s the way they are, and just because they do stuff like that doesn’t mean they’re trying to make you feel bad.”

Medic looks at Soldier like he’s grown a second head.

“I’m sure Heavy did not mean to remind you that you are a fraud and have never been to medical school,” Soldier goes on. He looks over his shoulder at Heavy. “Isn’t that right, Ruskie?”

For the first time since the argument started, Heavy looks something besides apathetic. In fact, he almost seems…embarrassed. The Russian looks between Soldier and Medic, the doctor now giving him a raised eyebrow.

“Hrmm…no. I did not try to imply…that.” He has the decency to look abashed, rubbing the back of his neck while shifting from foot to foot. “I only bring up degree because I feel you did not respect me.”

Something softens in Medic’s expression, and Soldier takes a step back.

“I love _Karenina_ ,” Heavy continues. “Is my favorite of all time. When I share with doktor, I expect him to love it to. When you say that you do no think love triumphs in end, it hurt. It felt like personal attack. I am sorry, I did not mean to kill two birds with one stone.”

A wry smile crosses Medic’s face. “That is not what that phrase means, you oaf,” he replies, but his voice lacks its earlier venom. He adjusts his glasses. “I am sorry too. I should not have jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Maybe when I am fluent in my Russian, we will not have so many miscommunications.”

“Maybe,” Heavy says with a twinkle in his eye. “Though that will take very long time.”

“ _Trottel_ ,” Medic grins.

“Well, my work here is done,” Soldier says slapping Medic on the back and skewing his glasses once again. “See you later, privates. Have fun cleaning up your stupid library.”

As Soldier and Demo make their way to the doors, Demo thinks that went much better than expected, considering no one’s intestines ended up on their outsides. They almost make it to the door before Medic stops them.

“A moment, _Herr_ Demo.”

Demo turns to see Medic rummaging around in a supply cabinet, eventually returning with a book clutched in his hand.

“Er,” Demo protests, “no offense lads, but I’m nae really interested in joining book club. My Russian doesnae extend much beyond ‘yes’ and ‘no’.”

Medic shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s a very helpful anatomy course, complete vith diagrams. Sniper mentioned that you vere having trouble with such things, and asked if I had anything to help. I’m glad you came by when you did, I almost forgot.”

“Sniper- what??” Demo practically squeaks. “That skinny little-”

“What does Demoman need anatomy book for?” Heavy questions suspiciously.

“Hm?” Medic asks absently, picking up some discarded cuttlefish from the door. “Oh, he and Soldier are sleeping together. I thought everyone knew that.”

Demo makes a strangled noise, one that eventually forms into, “Soldier and I are nae sleepin’ together!”

“Yeah!” Soldier backs him up. “We just do the kissing stuff!”

“Soldier!” Demo snaps.

“Uh…I mean…we _don’t_ do kissing stuff either!” Soldier backpedals. “We are completely platonic in our interactions and do not like each other as more than friends, even though we spend a lot of time together now, it is nothing to…uh…be suspicious about……dammit,” Soldier mutters in defeat.

Demo facepalms again.

“Vell, this was all very informative,” Medic says, placing the last of the books back on Heavy’s shelf.

Heavy looks between the two of them, pleasantly amused.

“C’mon, Solly,” Demo says, taking Soldier by the arm. “We’ve done enough here.”

Soldier lets himself be dragged out, apologizing once they got into the hallway. Demo halfheartedly tells him it’s okay, and goes upstairs to find an inconspicuous place to stash the book. Probably next to his condoms and fuzzy handcuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been wanting to write that sniper scene for so long, it’s my absolute favorite. he’s so bad with people. just imagine a box filled with an improbable amount of condoms
> 
> the german here is various insults, nothing essential for reading


	7. -Three-

They’re sitting just inside the stairwell, rain pouring over the gravel rooftop. It doesn’t rain often in the badlands, but when it does, it rains _hard_. It began yesterday night, and showered so hard Engie had moved his most valuable equipment out of the basement in case of a flash flood. (Demo thought the workaholic was just being paranoid.)

Demo and Soldier curl into each other’s space in the small entryway, the door open to bring in the smell of rain and a view of the desert. The beer is finished, but they don’t feel like going in. The weather’s an excuse to stay here, Soldier lying against Demo’s chest, helmet off, breathing in the scent of petrichor and pretending like they’re the only two people in the world.

Demo’s chest rises and falls, taking Soldier’s head with it. It’s no starry night, but it’s dazzling in it’s own way.

“You know,” Demo says, pausing a moment to let Soldier look up, “after yesterday, there’s no real reason for us tae hide from the team anymore. Someone tells someone, they tell someone else, and then even Glen from HR knows, and no one tells him shit. The whole team’s in the loop at this point. ”

“What about Scout?” Soldier, asks, twisting to a better position.

“You’re right. Let me rephrase: everyone who _matters_ already knows.”

Soldier laughs. After a few more minutes of watching the rain, he says, “Everyone’s been a lot…nicer about us than I expected.”

“Well, they like us. I think they’re willin’ tae look past a few eccentricities since we do our jobs and dunnae cause too much trouble. Well,” Demo pauses, “ _I_ dunnae cause too much trouble.”

That gets another laugh from Soldier.

“What about Monday when you shoved Scout off the hightower?” he asks.

“Hey, you would have done the same in me position.”

“True,” Soldier concedes, “but the point still stands.”

They sit quietly, the sound running water filling the stairwell and echoing back downstairs. Demo is thoughtful, his eye unfocused on the view in front of him.

“I think I should tell him,” he says after a while.”

“Hm?” Soldier asks.

“Scout, I mean.” Demo hesitates. “He’s the only one on BLU who doesnae know, and I think I should tell him. For closure’s sake.”

Soldier shrugs. “Up to you. I don’t care either way. It seems like everyone is going to find out sooner or later.”

That’s as close to permission as Demo’s going to get. He kisses Solider on the top of the head, and closes his eye.

* * *

It’s weird, walking down the hall to Scout’s room and feeling the sense of finality. He meant what he said about closure, and now is the time finish things, but it still feels like it’s not really real.

“Where are you off to with such a frown?” Spy says, knocking him out of his thoughts. They’re stopped in the hallway, Spy heading in the other direction.

“I’m off tae visit Scout,” Demo says with a shrug.

“And _why_ on Earth would you want to do that?”

“I’m goin’ tae tell him about me ‘n Soldier.”

Spy raises an eyebrow, obviously waiting for further explanation.

Demo obliges. “He’s the only one left who doesnae know about us. Once I tell him, that’ll be it. No more sneakin’ around…we can do whatever.”

“What about Medic? And Heavy? Do you not have to tell them as well?”

“No,” Demo remembers bitterly. “Sniper told them. Well, Sniper told Medic, and Medic told Heavy.”

Spy shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“Who? Medic or Sniper?”

“Yes,” Spy confirms, and Demo laughs. “On a related note, I cannot believe _Soldier_ is the one to mend Medic’s broken pride, when I have been trying as such for weeks. Simply absurd.”

“Well, he does have a way with people. Maybe not always the most gentle, or tactful way with people, but certainly a way.”

Spy grins. “I cannot argue with that, and I suppose I best let you be on your way; I’m sure you’re just _dying_ to get to your meeting with the Scout. _Au Revoir_.”

Demo only lets Spy take a few steps before stopping him. “Actually, Spy, I wanted tae tell you something.” Spy pauses, looking at the Demoman inquisitively. “I never properly thanked you. For all this, I mean. You’ve been helpful from the moment it started up and I havenae really had the time tae be grateful. So, that’s what I want tae say now. Thank you, Spy.”

Spy gives him a soft smile. “It was my pleasure, Demoman. Though, if you start spreading word around I am a romantic at heart, I _will_ have to kill you out of pride. Cannot have the REDs thinking I have gone soft.”

Demo lets go of Spy’s arm with a chuckle. “I wouldnae expect anything else.”

The Frenchman gives one final bow before disappearing down the hallway, a wave and a puff of smoke his last farewell.

* * *

Demo knocks, knowing Scout’s in here since the door’s half open. Scout’s sense of privacy is lax at best, having seven brothers will do that, and Demo can count the times he’s lost a limb when the youngest mercenary has barged into the lab.

“Uh…come in?”

Stepping into the room, Demo finds a confused Scout sitting on the bed: feet propped and comic open. Whoever Scout was expecting, it probably wasn’t the Demoman.

“Yo. Wadda ya want?” Scout asks sourly. He’s probably mad about being interrupted during a particularly corny action sequence.

“There’s somethin’ I need tae tell you,” Demo says, plopping down on a chair opposite the bed. “I’m nae goin’ tae beat around the bush. The whole team knows, and you’re the last tae find out, so we might as well get it over with.” Before Scout can get out in snide comment, Demo lets loose. “Soldier and I are seein’ each other.”

Scout stares at him, comic book open, brow furrowed into a look of _are you kidding me?_ Demo waits for the expected cycle: disbelief, acceptance, and (knowing Scout) disgust.

“You…an’ Soldier?” Scout muses.

Step one, check.

“Yeah. Me and Soldier. Together.”

It only kinda gets to step two because all the sudden Scout is standing on his bed, the comic fluttering to the floor. He lets out a whoop.

“You an’ Soldier! Ha!” Scout laughs like a maniac. “I fuckin’ called it, man. I. Called. It. I _told_ Spy somethin’ was up with you two an’ he told me I was nuts!” he pauses. “Wait. You said the whole team already knows? Includin’ Spy?” He doesn’t wait for Demo to respond, clenching his fist and snarling. “That fucukin’ frog, he made me think I was a lunatic!”

Demo was not expecting Scout to be unsurprised by the revelation, let alone…delighted?

Scout rants a little more about Spy before suddenly remembering Demo is there. All at once, he drops back onto the bed; chin in hands, feet up in the air, lying on his stomach like a twelve-year-old girl who’s just heard the best gossip of her life.

“So,” Scout grins, “you come here just to tell me that, or ya gunna spill all the juicy details?”

“Juicy… _what_?” Demo sputters. When he went through Scout’s door, was he actually stepping into some sort of terrifying alternate dimension?

“Ya know. ‘Gimme the deets’.” Scout rolls more comfortably on his side. “The naughty no-nos. The steamy bits. C’mon, Demo! Ya gotta give me somethin’. It’s not like anyone else has a sex life around here, an’ I’m bored. I’m sure you old farts get up to somethin’ kinky.”

“Gah! Why does this keep happening?” Demo buries his face in his hands. “Once! Just _once_ I’d like one o’ you arseholes to have a normal reaction.”

Scout makes a face. “Wadda ya mean by that?”

“Like…I dunno. Tell me I’m a freak or somethin’? I’d expect _you_ of all people tae at least find this a little weird.”

“Me?” Scout snorts, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “Are you kiddin’? I’m an _expert_ at this gay shit. Didn’t I ever tell you morons where I’m from?”

“Er…Boston?” Demo tries. That’s right, right? It feels like Scout had told him that at least six times a day for as long as he’s known the kid.

Scout just rolls his eyes. “Like, more specifically.” When realization still doesn’t dawn on the Demoman, Scout just goes on anyways. “Well, it doesn’t matter. The way this team is turnin’ out, seems like we’re gunna be one big pack a’ queers all over again.”

As the gravity of Scout’s words sink in, Demos shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“So…er…you too, eh?” he mumbles. Scout’s expression doesn’t change from his slightly amused smirk. “Well that’s…unexpected. You talk about girls so much, I would never have guessed…”

Scout snorts again. “That’s what’s trippin’ you up? It’s not like you don’t do that too, pally.”

“I know,” Demo snaps, suddenly defensive. “But I dinnae know any better back then. I was just…confused I guess.” His voice looses its strength. Scout’s right: he did used to talk about girls all the time. It had felt genuine too, even though now he knows it must have just have been an act.

Scout senses Demo’s thoughts. He scoots closer to the edge of the bed, frowning in almost a brotherly way.

“Are you sure you were confused?” he asks in an uncharacteristically gentle way.

“O’ course I’m sure!” Demo snaps, returning to his earlier temper. “I’m with Soldier now, aren’t I?”

“Just because you feel stuff now doesn’t mean the other stuff you felt before wasn’t you feelin’ stuff. Capisce?”

Absolutely not capisce. Demo glares.

Scout sighs. “Look, I used to worry about that kinda stuff too. But it doesn’t have to be one way or the other: you can like girls and you can like guys and it doesn’t mean you’re confused or nothin’. It’s just the way ya are.”

“I think you’re full o’ horseshite,” Demo replies, but part of him wants believe what Scout is saying. It would explain so much, wouldn’t it?

Scout notices the uncertainty in his voice. “Well, you don’t have to believe me right now. You can come by any time you like. Big bro Scout will always be here to help ya sort out your emotional shit, I can promise ya that.”

“I’m twice your age.”

“And ya still have so much to learn.”

That finally earns a chuckle from the Demoman. He doesn’t realize how much of a relief the laugh is until his shoulders relax into the movement. Despite himself, he grins at the Scout.

“So…” Scout begins. “How ‘bout dem details?”

Demo sighs. It was a nice moment while it lasted.

* * *

The gates will be opening any minute, all of BLU gathered in the spacious starting room before the match. Morning light filters in through the tiny holes in the gates, the steel barrier still protecting them from the day’s battle. It’s warm in the room, a light breeze from the fans disturbing loose fabric and straps. It is all very…freeing.

“Your heart-to-heart with Scout go well?” Soldier asks, walking up to the Demoman.

“It was…weird,” Demo replies honestly. “I’m just glad everything’s all over with.”

“You can say that again.”

It’s hard not to notice how close the Soldier stands to him. He wants to move in even closer, but is still somewhat self-conscious in front of the team. Objectively he knows there’s no problem, but it’s still an open secret.

Soldier seems to be thinking along the same lines.

“You know, everyone here knows,” Soldier says. “There’s no consequences to anything at this point.”

“Yeah…?” Demo follows, wondering where this is going.

Soldier’s face splits into a wide, joyous grin. He sidles up to Demo, mischievousness written into his face.

“Which means I can finally do this.”

Without any more ceremony, Soldier pulls him into a deep kiss. An exclamation mark appears above every head in room, including the Demoman’s. His first instinct is to pull away, the old fear driving him away from Soldier, but there’s something so sudden and romantic and intoxicating in that kiss he can’t even try. Faintly, he’s aware that Soldier is dipping him, his weight taken off his feet and held securely in the other man’s arms, but he barely registers it over the deep need to kiss him back. They explore each other, Demo biting Soldier’s lip to return the affection, their audience forgotten. It seems so much more dangerous than lying on the edge of the roof, inches away from a gory demise. And it’s even more rewarding.

Soldier sets him back on his feet, leaving him dazed. His boyfriend is still wearing that shit-eating grin, self-satisfaction making him look all the more gorgeous. Blinking, Demo looks around the room.

Spy stands in the corner, pointedly looking away but wearing a faint smile all the same. Heavy pretends not to care, and Medic actually doesn’t. Engie glares at them, but does nothing more than return to his pre-match work.

Sniper is smirking. Pyro has their hands over their glass goggles, pretending like they aren’t looking. It’s not very convincing since they giggle every couple of seconds and move their fingers just to peak.

Scout, for his part, flashes Demo a double thumbs up. Demo doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so happy for someone who isn’t himself.

“You know,” Demo tells Soldier, his mouth still wet with spit, “Spy was right. We didn’t last three weeks.”

Soldier laughs, and pulls him into a half hug. The spectacle over, the team returns their attention to pre-match preparations, the PDA forgotten as quickly as it started. Demo and Soldier enjoy the last few minutes before taking their positions at the door. They’ll probably only see each other now and again during the match, but it will be all right.

It’s a pretty good arrangement otherwise.

“Mission begins in five…four…three…two…one…go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of ideas about the Scout one. originally Scout tearfully comes out when demo talks to him, but I felt that was so cliché. then I thought this was a much better idea. sexually confident scout is my passion
> 
> thanks for reading everyone! school starts tomorrow for me, so my writing will slow down considerably until november. but i still have a few things on backlog, so it wont' be right away.
> 
> keep a look out for something on saturday >:]


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